“It may be more than men,” Kaden replied. “As you say, we face the same foe.”

He glanced over to where Triste shivered against the wall. Guilt stabbed at him, sharp and jagged as a stone caught in a sandal. He set the pain aside. It was already clear the Ishien cared nothing for pain, Triste’s or his own.

“The girl is at the center of it,” Tan said. “At the center of your fight, and Kaden’s. You may find you have more in common with the Emperor than you think.”

Hellelen watched her awhile, then spat onto the stone. “I knew the Shin were weak, but you, Rampuri? I didn’t realize you were so eager to scrape before a throne.”

Tan ignored the gibe, and after a few heartbeats Hellelen turned back to Triste, staring at her awhile, then blowing out a long, slow breath between his teeth. “A female, is it?” He prodded her cheek with the tip of the crossbow bolt. “We could learn much from a female.” His voice had gone tight with something that sounded like anger or hunger. “You’re certain she is Csestriim?”

“You listen poorly,” Tan replied. “Nothing is certain, but the signs are there. We can discuss them in more detail once she is secure. Take her to a cell.”

Hellelen narrowed his eyes. “You’re not in charge here, monk.” He spat the last word. “You were never in charge.”

Kaden recognized the disgust in Tan’s gaze from moments in his own training. “I will tend to her myself, then, while the rest of you bicker. Stand well back. She is faster and stronger than she appears.”

“What about your beloved sovereign?” Hellelen demanded. “He is to simply wander free through the Heart?”

Kaden wanted to object. He never expected to command the Ishien, but as the Emperor of Annur, he shared with them a common task: the guarding of the gates. He had hoped for civility at least, for mutual respect. He had hoped that he would have some say in Triste’s treatment. But, as the Shin were fond of saying, You cannot drink hope. You cannot breathe it or eat it. It can only choke you.

Coming to the Ishien was starting to look like a mistake, and a grave one at that, but there was little he could do to correct his decision while standing unarmed and heavily guarded beside the frigid pool. Maybe Triste was Csestriim, and maybe she was not. Either way, she deserved to be treated decently, gently, until she proved herself a threat. He wanted to say that one more time, but it was pointless. He had no traction in the situation, no leverage. With an effort, he stifled his fear and anger, slid all expression from his face, then stepped back.